Grand Theft Auto: Showtime
by ChaoticBanter
Summary: Gwendolyn Pollock, in a disastrous attempt to murder her fiance, runs off to Los Santos with her best friends- Melissa and Addison- to escape her bloodthirsty ex. There, Gwen is caught up in the bank robbery business with Trevor Philips. Will she ever lead a normal life? Or will the excitement of the criminal world become who she is?
1. Prologue: Escape

I sat in Melissa's hallway for a long time, blood splattered across my chest like dark red paint. She and Addison sat on either side of me in complete silence, both pale and wide-eyed.  
>Trembling, I gripped the gun that was in my hand with such force, my knuckles were going numb as they turned white as the wall I found myself staring at, unblinkingly.<br>Truth be told, I was relieved.  
>It was over.<br>No more screaming fits, no more throwing furniture across the room in hopes of reaching a target, despite the blinding rage. No more slaps across the face, no more hitting, no more bruises over cuts over bruises. No more sobbing in the bathtub, praying he'd change as I watched my own blood drop and disperse into the bubbling water.  
>No more <em>fear<em>.  
>I was finally free, and the beautiful revelation brought tears to my sad, sleepless eyes. Yes. I was free. From <em>him<em>.  
>I was free, that is, until I found his body missing the next day; until I realized he wasn't the corpse I was certain had bled out against the bedroom wall of our once shared flat.<br>Suddenly, I was no longer free.  
>Suddenly, I was <em>running for my life<em>.  
>I knew that he was looking for me, and it was only a matter of time before he found what he was looking for.<br>So, Melissa and Addison willing to drop everything to run off with me, I decided to move far, far away to the sunny seaside city of _Los Santos_.  
>But who would have guessed that the danger had only begun?<p> 


	2. Chapter One: Welcome to Los Santos

"Hey, Gwen! Wake up. The plane's landed." Melissa's voice drifted to my ears over the roaring aircraft engines. I squeezed my eyelids closer together and then opened them, blinking a few times before my brain finally registered what my best friend had just said to me.

To be completely honest, the six hour plane ride (excluding our numerous and quite annoying layovers) was the most I had slept since the night I found out _he_ was alive. I didn't really want to wake up.

"Yeah, Gwen. Get up, asshole." My other best friend, Addison, added jokingly, slapping my face a lot harder than she probably intended.

"Can you not see that my eyes are clearly open, bitch?" I grumbled back, playfully punching her leg in return.

From my seat in the middle, I could barely see the skyscrapers jetting out into the Los Santos air past Addie's giant ass backpack in her lap. How she managed to stuff that thing under the seat in front of her, I don't know.

I sighed at the blocked view and stretched out my stiff arms, knowing there'd be plenty of time for sightseeing later (I mean, _damn_, I lived here now); we had a rent house to move into!

Despite the slow and gawking movements of the many elderly tourists we had the pleasure of sharing a plane with, we managed to get our luggage and flag down a taxi without much ado.

The three of us had packed fairly light, considering we paid big bucks for a couple of thuggish movers to haul most of our shit to Los Santos and put it all in our new abode the previous week.

Not like they did a decent job of it or anything. You rarely get what you pay for anymore. Services these days don't care about the quality of their workers, but of the quantity of your bank account. Ah, whatever. _C'est la vie_. Regardless of the crappy moving job, the house was beautiful, and big enough for a trio of world-weary- albeit, starry-eyed- girls like us.

The property was surrounded by rusted wrought iron fencing the height of your average basketball player, the entrance an electric gate controlled by either a remote (which we were not provided with yet), or a code for the keypad (which we didn't require because our landlord, Mr. Kelly Tibbs, was waiting inside for us).

The faded auburn cobblestone driveway stretched not forty feet to the center of the house, forming a circle around a garden, decorated with tangling rose bushes and an array of wild tiger lilies. Palm trees dotted the edge of the overgrown yard, their leaves full and bright in the midsummer day.

The house itself was of Spanish style, single storied, and in a square C shape, save for the wall that separated the parking circle from the open space in the center.

From the driveway, a path led through the middle of three large archways, opening up into a small courtyard. A half-sized statue of some Greek goddess stood atop a crumbling pillar, water pouring from her hands and feet into the basin of a mossy fountain placed in the center of the small space.

I scoped out the rest of the courtyard, vines crawling up the white stone walls, the sun turning the bland brown color of the roof shingles into a rich mocha. There were two rotting wooden benches placed against the wall on either side of the fountain and there were two black rectangular patio tables, each surrounded by three matching chairs, that sat on both sides of the large double doors of the house's front entrance.

I felt out the cracks in the vine-draped arch beside me as we waited for our landlord to meet us outside for a tour. When he did finally join us, I was too busy basking in the late morning sun, watching the light glisten off the green tinted waterfalls of the fountain to notice.

"It's built like the missions I always visited when I was going to Catholic school in Texas." I mused aloud.

"Well, yeah." Our landlord replied, startling me with his presence, "The place was built to house priests. The old church is right down the road."

I was intrigued, "But why is there a statue of this Greek chick? I thought Catholicism didn't approve of pagan decor back in the day. Not that they do now, but I'm sure you catch my drift."

"Well, the statue was originally of Jesus, but it was replaced in the early sixties by some classic art enthusiast." The man explained, scratching the back of his balding gray head.

He was in his late fifties, plump, and wore a hideous blue and yellow Hawaiian shirt over tan khaki shorts. So this was what Kelly Tibbs looked like. Not that I was surprised. His voice gave him away over the phone. He was definitely a smoker, what with the collection of cigars he had going in his shirt pocket. He was of Irish descent, too, considering the red tones of his tanned skin. Yep. He was pretty much exactly how I envisioned him to be.

"Ah, that explains why the statue's a lot less damaged than the rest of the fountain." I replied, tapping a carmine fingernail on the goddess's outstretched hand. I was fairly certain it was of Artemis. Wait... Athena, maybe? No, she wasn't wearing a helmet and sported a bow and quiver on her back. Definitely Artemis. How badass.

"So the neighborhood is one of the oldest and most historic in Los Santos. You're not in Rockford Hills, but hey, at least the place is no, uh, _hood_."

"Oh, so the place is for the middle class, you mean? I didn't even know there was a middle class in L.S." I joked, "But that explains why the rent's fairly cheap, I s'pose."

"That," he shifted nervously, "and a serial killer lived here in the late eighties. Until he got caught, that is."

The girls and I exchanged bewildered glances before I asked, "There isn't any bodies buried here, right?"

"Course not! Well, not that I know of..." I raised a questioning eyebrow, "No, alright. There's not any... _bodies_. I was joking! See? Ha!"

"Well, I sure don't recall you telling me this _tidbit_ of information over the phone, Mr. Tibbs." I responded, crossing my arms.

"Look, I know I should've, but it's been a decade since I last rented the place, and I could really use the cash. Okay?" He pleaded.

What'd he need money for? His twenty-something year old wife's boob job? A brand new car? He seemed to be doing pretty good for himself, seeing how his tacky attire was top brand and his wedding ring couldn't have been less than 22 karat gold. He probably rented out half the neighborhood! The only thing he needed was a new wardrobe and some miracle grow for his hair. Or, I should say, lack thereof.

I sighed and stroked my chin thoughtfully, "Although that was quite heavy house history you decided to skirt around, the building's gorgeous. As long as the rent's only a couple thousand dollars a month, I know _I_ can manage." I turned to my friends for approval, "Whataya say? We stayin' here?"

They both nodded and I could almost see the relief in Kelly's eyes behind his Windsor sunglasses. He smiled and opened one of the front doors, "Tour time, ladies."

We followed him into the house, welcomed by an arrangement of two loveseats facing each other with a coffee table in the middle, a glass sliding door on the other side of it, center with the front entrance, "Now here's a day room of sorts. The back door's obviously a modern touch."

Turning left down the hall, we saw the kitchen, which was settled in the corner of the large space, "Now here's where the magic happens, am I right, ladies?"

Addie and I rolled our eyes at the sexist joke, and I could hear Melissa scoff in offense. He looked like he was about to add insult to injury, but thought better of it and gestured farther down that side of the house, "There's the dining room, and through that arch is the living room."

He turned on his heels and began to walk to the right section of our new home, "Now the bathroom's right here," he pointed to a room that was parallel to the kitchen, "and down that hall are the three bedrooms. Follow me to the backyard."

We complied as he slid open the glass door and led us out onto the back patio, complete with an old weathered grill, which overlooked a charming, curved pool. It wasn't the biggest or deepest I'd ever seen, but it was a pool. I can't say many homes in Liberty City had those. We followed Kelly down the patio steps as he chattered endlessly about the climate and the bugs and the pool upkeep, blah, blah, blah.

Looking around, I saw a door that most likely led to the basement. He noticed me staring and told us all about how spacious it was down there and how he spent extra cash on a washer and dryer to make sure we had all we needed. How charming.

The backyard itself- pool excluded- was pretty large. I could see a family with kids living here, or somebody with a bunch of pets. I then recalled what Kelly had said about the serial killer and was glad the girls and I had neither kids nor pets to dig up the body parts that Kelly was _so sure_ weren't there. Although, the latter of those two alternatives might've been a possibility in our near future.

Finally, the middle aged man stopped his rambling- which I ignored for the most part- and said his goodbyes, handing each of us a remote for the gate that could fit on a keychain and a house key.

He left then, allowing us to tear into some of the boxes that were piled all over the place and start unpacking. By the time we fixed up our kitchen and half of our rooms, it was only six p.m., but I was exhausted from the long day and lack of sleep from the past few weeks.

As I forced myself to keep my eyes open long enough to put the sheets on my new bed, Addie leaned against the door frame in amusement, "I thought you were going to go visit with your dear uncle Taylor?"

"Trevor. His name's Trevor." I corrected before plopping onto the mattress and groaning in content at it's comfortability, "And he's not my uncle. He's Brad's old buddy. You know, Sean's cousin? If Brad wasn't in jail, I'd prolly be running to him, cos we're actually related."

"He's related to your scumbag ex _stepdad_, not _you_." She told me, rolling her eyes, "I still don't get why you think you have to associate with this guy at all."

"I dunno. I met the guy once when I was like, ten. Trevor, I mean. He was pretty fucking terrifying, too. I guess I thought it'd be a good idea to have a psycho on my side if, you know, he shows up." I said, sitting up to look at her.

"You talking about Chris?" She asked, dumbfounded.

"Yes. I'm talking about _him_." I refused to say his name. It reminded me of all those months I spent under his abusive reign.

"Do you _really_ think your asshole ex can track you down? Like, seriously, Gwen. I overthink things all the time, but even to me that's out there." She responded dubiously.

"I know, I know. But I'm trying to play it safe for once, Addie. Besides, you can't tell me it wouldn't be helpful to know someone in the area. Trevor could introduce us to some new friends. Wouldn't that be nice?" Truthfully, I didn't expect this guy to have many friends at all. But hey, I didn't really know him. Yet.

"Yeah, whatever. He doesn't even live in L.S. and isn't he like, forty-something? I don't really want to make friends with old people, Winnie. It'd be like hanging out with our parents." She wrinkled her nose and I chuckled.

"He's only a couple hours south of here. And hey, old people can be cool." I defended jokingly.

"You only say that cos you hooked up with a bunch of your professors in college."

I snorted, "It was _not_ a _bunch_. It was only, like, two. And they were hot and unmarried, okay?"

"Keep telling yourself that, Winnie." She sniggered as she exited the room, leaving me in peace.

"HOT AND UNMARRIED!" I bellowed after her before falling back onto the mattress.

I pulled out a pamphlet with "_Los Santos_" elegantly printed across the top, which had been handed to me by a little old man in a beat up windbreaker that lived near Melissa's old apartment in Liberty City.

Strangely enough, it was given to me just before I discovered Trevor lived in Sandy Shores. If it wasn't for that piece of folded paper, I wouldn't have found the rent house in the first place. I had a lot to thank that little old guy for.

Sighing, I rolled over and fell asleep as soon as I closed my eyes.

Spending my first evening in Los Santos laying around instead of sipping martinis with the rich and famous? Why not. It wasn't as if the alcohol and the celebrities were going somewhere anytime soon.

No, I rested then, knowing that the following morning I'd be hauling ass to Sandy Shores on my not-so-thought-out mission to find my crazy, estranged, ex step-family friend.


End file.
